Reunited
by Eosophobia-3
Summary: Set after the events of the final battle... Fred is gone but George refuses to leave it at that. Their battle to be reunited with one another... This is how I think the twins' story should have ended
1. Gone

**This is my own version of what happens after the final film. (Excluding the future bit)… Please enjoy and, if you're like me and refuse to see the twins split up, accept this as the true ending to their story.**

**Chapter One: Gone**

"George. George sweetheart," Molly Weasley touched her son's shoulder and he flinched back from her hand. He was kneeling on the dusty floor, his hands limp at his sides and his head hung low above his dead twin. His face was ashen and his eyes looked as cold and empty as Fred's. Tears had left clean tracks down his otherwise dirty face and they still streamed silently down his cheeks as his eyes stared blankly at the empty shell on the floor.

Most of the people who had been in the Great Hall were making their way back to their homes and families; many had been injured in the fight against the Dark Lord and a few had given their lives to save the ones they loved. Like Fred. Harry had fought valiantly alongside Hermione and Ron and even clumsy, not-too-bright Neville Longbottom had given his all in the battle. Neville stared now, uncomfortable in the private moment of the Weasley family. He patted Harry, who was comforting Ginny, on the back and walked out into the bright day. The sun shone merrily through what remained of the windows and great shafts of light glinted off Ron's red hair as he and Hermione sat together on a snapped wooden bench. The silence was only interrupted by the sounds of bodies huddling together and hearts trying to repair themselves.

Arthur stepped towards Molly, who was failing in her attempt to move George, and ushered her away soothingly. She sat beside Ron and embraced him tightly, silently crying into his shirt. Arthur crouched beside George and placed his warm hand on his,

"It's time to go George," he said shakily. George frowned but never took his eyes away from Fred's face. He'd closed Fred's eyes and smoothed his shirt and now he was holding his ever-cooling hand tightly, never wanting to let go. Arthur took George's hand, letting Fred's slap heavily to the floor, "It's time to go home now," he said.

The rest of the family, including Hermione and Harry, gathered their things and stood in a loose huddle a little way away from the others. Ron didn't want to look at Fred or even George for that matter. It just didn't seem right seeing one without the other and it made his chest hurt just thinking about it. He gripped Hermione's hand tightly and she squeezed it back lovingly. Arthur stood, pulling George with him, and looked at the others,

"I'll apparate back with… the body," his voice broke on the last word. Molly nodded and Ginny whimpered into Harry's shoulder. As Arthur bent down to take his fallen son in his arms George turned to his mother,

"Just his body?" he asked, wide-eyed. Molly frowned and cupped George's cheek in her hand,

"He's taking him back home, sweetie," she whispered.

"I want to go with him!" George suddenly shouted, startling everyone, "I'll go with him!" Tears flowed freely down George's face and Molly opened her mouth to speak but no sound came out. Arthur took George by the hand and nodded,

"Okay son." Arthur, George and Fred were suddenly gone, followed soon after by the rest of the battle-sore group.

**~ o o O o o ~**

Back at the Burrow everyone sat in silence around the wooden kitchen table. Molly busied herself making everyone cups of tea, forgetting to put teabags in on her first attempt. Arthur had made some enquiries about Fred's body and a man named Quentin Moon had told him he would be there to collect 'The Deceased' as soon as possible. Molly handed out the last of the tea and sat down beside her husband, who put a shaking arm around her. She suddenly looked startled,

"What about Bill? And Percy and Charlie? Do they _know?_" she clapped her hands to her mouth and let out a ragged breath.

"It's alright, they know, everything's done," Arthur comforted her. She took a sip of tea, spilling some on the cracked table, and nodded firmly. Harry sat up a little straighter and looked at his hands on the table,

"I just wanted to say," he swallowed hard and looked around the table, his eyes resting momentarily on George's lost face, "I wanted to say thank you, for everything. You've given so much," his voice wavered and Molly placed her hands on top of his, quieting him,

"Shh, we knew what this battle would bring. None of this was your fault Harry," she smiled weakly and gathered Ron and Hermione's hands together with Harry's, "I'm _so_ proud of you," she looked at Ginny and George, "_All_ of you." A single tear fell from her smiling eyes and she wiped it away quickly. A loud knock on the door made everyone flinch. Everyone but George.

Arthur opened the door to find a tall, thin man in a long, black overcoat standing on the step. His face was pointed and he looked brittle as he held out his hand to Arthur,

"Quentin Moon," he said in a reedy voice.

"Please," Arthur said, barely louder than a whisper, "Come in." Mr. Moon stepped inside, ducking his head through the doorway. He smiled feebly at the group and spoke through yellowed teeth,

"My deepest sympathies." He looked around quickly and turned back to Arthur, "The body?"

"Upstairs," Arthur replied and showed the man into the hallway.

Ron listened as the two men made their way up the rickety staircase towards the twin's room where Arthur had rested Fred's body on his bed. Ron could hear their muffled voices as they spoke to one another and he tried to busy his mind with something else. He looked at George. His older brother looked smaller than usual, thinner somehow. His cheeks looked sunken and his eyes seemed to be loose in their sockets, hanging limply like fused light bulbs. He'd stopped crying but somehow that made it worse; he was just staring at the table now, no echo of emotion anywhere on his face. Ron got up and stepped towards George,

"George," he swallowed hard and continued quietly, "Do you want some tea?" It was a stupid question, he knew that. It was just the first thing that came into his mind. George hadn't touched the cup his mother had handed him and it seemed somewhat important to Ron that he should have some tea. George blinked slowly and looked at his little brother,

"Where did Dad go?" he asked, childlike.

Ron rubbed at his mouth with his palm, "He's upstairs with… That man."

George frowned deeply, "With Fred?"

Ron nodded, "Yeah. They're gonna take him now I think."

"Take him?" George was suddenly on his feet, his hands pulling at his hair, "Now?"

Ron nodded silently and Molly dashed to George's side, her eyes streaming with tears. She grabbed his shoulders and tried to calm him but he shook her off and ran up the stairs, towards his and Fred's room. He barged through the door just as the tall, thin man and Fred disappeared in a whirl of grey smoke. His mouth opened in a silent scream and he dropped to his knees, grabbing at the last of the dissipating smoke.

"He's gone!" he yelled, "He's _GONE_!" George hung his head in his hands and tears dripped through his fingers onto the floorboards. Arthur tried to put his hand on George's back but he shrugged him off and pointed to the door, "Get out!" Arthur didn't argue, he left the room, and his grieving son, and closed the door quietly behind him.

Hours passed, George didn't know how many. He lay on the floor, in the same spot his father had left him in, with his eyes closed. But he didn't sleep. His good ear was pressed against the cold, wooden floorboards and he could hear muttering downstairs as the rest of the family tried to talk about anything other than Fred. Fred. Just the name made George's throat tighten. He opened his eyes and turned his head towards his twin's bed. It was still unmade from the day they'd left the house. The sheets were askew and one of Fred's shirts was hanging over the edge after being rejected for wear. George got up and knelt beside the bed. He didn't want to disturb it, after all Fred liked it a certain way and whenever George tried to fix it he'd get a right telling off. He took the sleeve of the shirt in his hand and carefully held it to his face without pulling it off the bed. He inhaled but couldn't smell anything. It just smelled like he did.

He sat there for a while, unmoving, and finally decided he should sleep. He gathered himself up, along with Fred's shirt, and walked towards his own bed. He suddenly stopped halfway between his bed and Fred's and stared across the room. A tall, full-length mirror stood between their beds, its plain wooden frame barely holding the glass in place. George's reflection stared back at him like a faint memory. It was him, _George_, and couldn't have been mistaken for his twin, well not by any Weasley anyway. But George stared at in nonetheless. He dropped the shirt and charged towards the mirror, fists clenched.

"Why?" he shouted at the glass and his reflection mirrored his anger, "You stupid bloody _idiot_! You left me!" Tears coursed down his reflection's face, making him angrier, "Oh, _you're_ upset? What about me? I'm the one who has to stay here, alone!" He stopped and stared at himself, feeling useless and pathetic. His own face frowned back at him and didn't even try to respond. He balled up his fist and slammed it into the glass, smashing it instantly. Something crunched in his hand and blood smeared the remaining glass but he didn't feel it. He didn't feel anything.

Moments later Molly Weasley bustled into the twins' room. She saw George sitting on his bed cradling his bloody hand and rushed over to him. She took his hand in hers and stroked his knuckles gently,

"Oh Georgie, what have you done?" She looked at the broken mirror and flicked her wand, clearing the broken shards of glass quickly away. George stared at his hand and then looked into his mother's caring eyes,

"He's gone Mum," he whispered through broken breaths, "And he's not coming back is he?" Molly pulled George's face towards her and kissed his head. He cried great, heart-wrenching sobs into his mother's chest and stayed there for most of the night. He didn't want to be alone.

**Thank you for reading!**

**Please review and don't be too depressed! I promise it'll get happier :)**


	2. Through the Looking Glass

**Chapter Two: Through the Looking Glass**

Almost three weeks had passed since the battle at Hogwarts. Fred's funeral had been four days after and it had been the worst day of George's life. He'd missed almost everything the pastor had said because he couldn't stop thinking about poor Fred lying in that wooden box, wearing such an awful suit. It was a dull blue colour that his mother had picked out and it was possibly the most revolting thing George had ever clapped eyes on. Certainly not something Fred would have chosen for himself. He'd watched as the coffin was lowered magically into the earth and as it was covered with damp soil until it was no longer visible. George's stomach had churned violently when his father told him it was time to leave but he hadn't protested. He'd simply walked, robot-like, with the rest of his family.

Now, three weeks after the day that changed everything, George, Harry, Ginny, Hermione and Ron sat around the kitchen table in the Burrow eating what remained of a chicken broth. George poked at it feebly with his spoon and watched as a few carrots bobbed to the top of the murky liquid like tiny goldfish. He hated carrots, always had, and he collected them in his spoon to hand to Fred who loved them. He lifted the spoon out of the bowl and looked to his left. Of course, Fred wasn't there. It was just an empty seat with a few scuff marks on it where many happy people had sat and enjoyed meals. The spoon dropped from George's hand and banged loudly on the wooden table, carrots tumbling off it. Ron looked up from his conversation with Hermione, as did Ginny and Harry. George stared at the fallen carrots with eyes like large orbs, he looked around the table,

"I- I thought…" he trailed off, utterly defeated, "I'll clean it up." He stood, took a towel from the draining board and mopped up the spilt broth. He poured the rest of the contents of his bowl down the sink and padded out of the room silently. Hermione looked back at Ron and took his hand,

"Go and talk to him." Ron blanched and swallowed hard,

"I can't… I dunno what to say!"

Hermione smiled kindly, "Ron, he's your brother. It doesn't matter what you say." She kissed his cheek and Ron made his way to what once was Fred and George's room but was now only George's.

George was sitting on his bed, his head in his hands, when Ron knocked quietly on the door. He pushed it open after hearing no response and George looked up, tears staining his face.

"Alright?" Ron said, a lump forming in his throat. George stared at the floor as Ron stood awkwardly in the centre of the room. He cleared his throat, "Do you want to talk about it?" George shook his head and another tear fell from his blank eyes. Silently Ron walked towards what had once been Fred's bed and bent to sit down. George jumped to his feet and held out his hands, as though Ron was some sort of dragon about to consume him,

"No!" George shouted, "Don't sit there!"

Ron froze and stood back up, shock on his face, "What? Why?"

"Its- Just leave it as it is!" George's shoulders sagged and he flopped back down on his bed. Ron walked over to his brother and sat beside him. It felt strange with no one on his other side; usually he was sandwiched between the twins with one of them prodding him whilst the other one giggled mischievously. But now it was just George. And it would always be _just_ George from now on. Ron looked at him and said,

"We're all in this together you know. We're all gonna miss… _him._ You're not alone."

George's pleading face turned to his youngest brother. Alone. That's all he'd ever be now. No more Gred and Forge, no more 'which one's which?' from strangers, no more synchronised thoughts. He tried to smile at his little brother but it felt wrong on his face, like he was forcing something out of himself that no longer felt natural. Ron seemed to think he'd helped though, and squeezed George's hand before leaving him alone in the all-too-empty room with only his thoughts for company. He lay back on his bed and stared at the ceiling, wondering if Fred was looking down on him from wherever it was people went when they died.

**~ o o O o o ~**

_BOOM!_

It was like a firework had been lit right in his face. One minute he was shooting anyone and everyone with blasts from his wand and the next he was laying on his back looking up at blurry faces through a thick cloud of white mist. He squinted through the cloud and saw his mother leaning over him, crying. Then his father was doing the same and then George, ever-happy George, was staring down at him with heavy tears falling from his eyes. The tears fell on his face but he didn't feel them, they seemed to evaporate before they touched his skin. He tried to sit up and comfort his twin, to tell him everything would be okay, but he couldn't move. It was like something huge and heavy was sitting on his chest preventing him from moving even his fingers. He saw George lean down and whisper something to him but he couldn't hear him through the thickening mist. Suddenly the mist was all he could see; he felt himself being wrenched backwards, like he was tumbling down for miles, and then he suddenly landed, feet first, onto something very solid.

Fred looked around the vast empty space. Everything seemed to be covered in snow. No, not snow, it was too clean to be snow, it was more like the colour had been drained from everything, leaving only the white shells of whatever they had once been. He looked down at himself; he was still dressed like he had been when he was fighting, colour and all, and the only thing different that he could see was that he didn't have his wand anymore. He walked a few steps forward, towards what looked like a window, and pressed his head against the cool glass. Outside he could see Diagon Alley; people were milling around as usual, looking in shop windows and talking to one another as they passed. There was only one thing wrong with the scene: everything was white. Fred couldn't see any colour anywhere other than himself.

"Weird," he mumbled as he turned back to look at his surroundings. He finally realised where he was, "Our shop!" he exclaimed. He was standing on the balcony of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes looking over the rest of the joke shop. Everything was as it had been when he and George had locked up thinking it could be the last time either of them ever saw it. He touched the white balcony and it felt cold under his skin, like marble. Quickly he rushed down the stairs into the main part of the shop where the various sweets and joke items were kept; it all seemed too clean and clinical to be the same shop, like someone had come in and taken the soul right out of it. He picked up a small love potion which should have been pink but was the same blank white as everything else. He stared at it for a moment, hoping it would somehow tell him what was going on. It didn't. He threw it down angrily and watched as it stopped itself before hitting the floor and then disappeared in a puff of mist. "What the hell is going on?" he whispered to himself.

He made his way out of the shop and into Diagon Alley. Careful not to walk into any of the all-white people he rushed through the alley towards the shop where he would find the chimney to take him home. Before he had time to even find the shop he was standing in his and George's room.

"How-" he started to speak but stopped when something caught his attention from the corner of his eye. Someone was lying on his bed, fast asleep by the looks of it. Everything in the room was still the weird white colour but it seemed clearer here, like the mist was thinner somehow. He stepped towards the bed and gasped sharply. It was him. Or rather his _body_. "Bloody hell," he croaked. He held out his hand to touch his oddly still body but stopped when his father entered the room followed by a thin man with a pointed face. Fred smiled and dashed to his father, ready to hug him warmly but his hands passed straight through him. He tried again but to no avail. Arthur Weasley didn't even know Fred was there.

"Ah yes," the thin man said as Fred watched silently, helpless, "You're very lucky."

Arthur's mouth fell open and he spat, "What?"

"His body doesn't seem to be too damaged," the thin man continued, obviously unaware of Arthur's shocked expression at his callous choice of words, "I'll take him to the funeral home now if that is what you wish?" Fred watched as his father nodded and a tear fell down his cheek. The thin man took Fred's dead hand and then vanished in a wisp of smoke. At that exact moment George barged into the room.

Fred watched as his twin shouted at his father and then lay on the floor crying into his hands. He was unable to let him know he was there or even move from the spot he was standing in but he stayed with him for hours as George poured his very soul out. After almost three hours George sat up and Fred watched as he took one of his old shirts and held it to his chest. He then watched as George got up and walked across the room. He suddenly stopped and Fred was certain he could see him, he was staring straight at him.

"Georgie?" Fred said quietly.

"Why?" George shouted. Fred was so elated that his twin could see him that he almost couldn't respond. But he shook himself out of his reverie and grinned stupidly,

"Oh, I was so worried you couldn't see-"

"You stupid bloody _idiot_! You left me!" George shouted, tears streaming down his face. Fred frowned and tried to explain,

"I couldn't help it! I think I'm _dead_ George. What are we going to-"

"Oh, _you're_ upset? What about me? I'm the one who has to stay here, alone!" George stared at Fred for a moment as Fred tried to understand what the hell his brother was talking about and then, all of a sudden, George balled up his fist and brought it up to punch Fred it in the face. Fred flinched and waited for the inevitable blow but it never came. Instead he watched as George's fist connected with an invisible barrier between them which shattered and fell to the floor in pieces. Fred looked at the shards of reflective glass on the floor and his heart sank. He looked back at his brother who was now cradling his bloody hand,

"You were never talking to me were you? You could never see me. It was the mirror you were shouting at, your reflection," Fred feigned a smile, "How could you even _imagine_ that ugly mug staring back at you was me?" He sighed and watched through his broken window as George was comforted by his mother and then as he slept alone in his room. Unable to communicate, unable to move Fred watched as his twin's life force slowly drained.

**Thanks for reading!**

**Please review!**

**More chapters soon :)**

**p.s. thanks for all the reviews so far!**


	3. Glimmer

**Chapter Three: Glimmer**

It was hot outside. Beads of sweat covered Ron's forehead as he scrambled around in the garden, searching for gnomes underneath the bushes. He and Harry had agreed to de-gnome the garden for Mrs. Weasley and she'd convinced George that it would be a good idea for him to help too. It had been almost three months since his twin had left him and George felt no different; his throat still tightened whenever he thought about him and the nightmares still came at night. He was starting to think that this was how it would be from now on, no more happiness or practical jokes, just _this._ But standing in the garden, helping to get rid of the gnomes like they always did, almost felt normal and, for a few brief moments, he was able to think about something other than the lost half of his soul.

"Look out Harry!" Ron yelled as a fat gnome ran at Harry's skinny legs. Harry turned just a little too late and was knocked to the ground with a thud. Ron laughed and George smiled thinly. Ron grabbed the gnome by the legs and swung it around, letting it fly into the nearby field.

"There's another one!" Harry got to his feet and pointed behind George who swivelled to look at it. It raised its chubby hands and stuck out its tongue. He frowned at it and charged forward, leaping at it like a gangly predator. It moved just before he reached it and George slid across the grass empty handed. The gnome laughed as Ron and Harry chased it comically around the unkempt garden.

George got to his feet and brushed himself down; he wiped his brow of sweat and started towards the other side of the garden, ready to corner the sure-footed gnome. As he stepped into a bright patch of sunlight that was shining through a gap in the trees he suddenly felt a cold chill run through him. It was like he'd just stepped into a freezer and he shuddered involuntarily as the cold rushed through his body. He stopped moving and waited for the feeling to pass, almost hypnotised by the strange sensation. He was sure he'd felt it before but where or when he couldn't say. As he stood there motionless the escaped gnome ran through his legs and back under the bush from whence it came. Ron and Harry ground to a halt behind George and Ron leaned forwards against his knees, panting,

"Why didn't you stop it George?" Ron asked. George didn't speak, he was still transfixed by the cool feeling encasing him; his breath came out in a thin mist like it did when it was winter and his hands shook slightly. Ron tapped his brother's hand and then jerked away quickly, it was _freezing_, "Bloody hell!" Ron gasped.

Harry frowned at his best friend and looked back at George, "What is it?"

When George didn't respond Ron spoke up, "He's freezing!" he turned to George, "Are you feeling okay?"

George was suddenly smiling. His eyes lit up like the life had finally been put back into them and his body relaxed. He finally remembered where he'd felt the strange cold sensation; it was when he's accidentally walked through Nearly Headless Nick at Hogwarts in his second year. He'd felt the ghost's very core pass through him and for hours afterwards he hadn't been able to shake the feeling of a foreign presence in his body. It felt like that now, like something or some_one_ had passed through him.

"Fred," he whispered.

**~ o o O o o ~**

Fred watched as George dived for the slippery gnome and missed it by mere inches. He laughed at his brother and shook his head,

"You always _were_ useless at catching them!" Of course George couldn't hear him, he couldn't even _see_ him but if felt nice to be able to watch over him like some strange guardian angel. That was what Fred had resigned himself to; he was obviously dead and nothing was going to change that, at least nothing he could think of, and so he'd decided to watch over George and the rest of his family as they lived the rest of their lives. It felt right somehow, like this was what he was supposed to be doing.

He watched George get up and brush himself down and then, without warning, George was suddenly standing directly in front of Fred, his eyes wide. Fred felt something warm wash through him. He felt like he had when his mother used to hug him if he hurt himself, like a soothing hand was holding him up. George didn't move from his position and neither did Fred, afraid he might break the magical moment if he did. Instead he held out his hand and cupped his twin's cheek gently. He passed right through it but somehow it felt more tangible, as though he was putting his hand in water. He watched, hypnotised, as George suddenly smiled a bright, warming smile and then whispered, "Fred."

Fred was taken aback. Did George know he was there? Had he felt his presence? Had he _seen_ him? So many questions flooded into Fred's mind that he didn't notice George's smile fade and then disappear altogether. Fred tried to touch his twin once more but the tangible feeling had vanished and it felt like sweeping his hand through thin air once more. George turned to walk back into the house and Fred tried to follow him but couldn't move. He watched helplessly as George entered the house, disappearing from sight.

**~ o o O o o ~**

That night at dinner Molly made a variety of sandwiches and everyone helped themselves. Everyone was still subdued, after all Fred had been a huge part of the family that could never be replaced, but the atmosphere seemed to be getting slightly better in the Weasley household as the weeks passed. Molly and Arthur talked about the reorganising of the Ministry, Ron and Hermione were planning a trip to her parents and Harry and Ginny were making small talk as they tucked into their sandwiches. George nibbled on the edge of his beef sandwich, his head resting on his hand. Ron grabbed another sandwich (his fourth) and looked at his Mother and Father,

"Tomorrow we're going to go and see Hermione's parents," he looked at his girlfriend and she smiled back reassuringly. Molly smiled,

"Well good. Be sure to wear something smart Ronald."

George snorted gently, "Good luck with that. We could lend you something to wear but you're just too scrawny, it'd fall right off you." A pained look crossed Molly's face and Ron's mirrored it exactly. George frowned, "What?" he asked and then realised he'd said 'we'. His eyes dropped to the table and he put the half eaten sandwich back on his plate. He stood up briskly, knocking his glass of water over and strode towards the back door. Molly held her hand out to him and he turned back, his eyes red from holding back tears, "I…" he looked around the room at the ever pitying faces, "I'm going out for a walk." Molly tried to protest but Arthur held her back as George opened the door and left the house, into the dark summer night outside.

The breeze was warm against his face as George walked through one of the neighbouring fields by his home. He felt awful for ruining the elated atmosphere in the house but he really hadn't meant to use the plural, he was just so used to it that it came out naturally. He looked up at the starry sky and yelled a wordless bark at the heavens. He thought he'd been coping, or at least living, through the past few months but in his mind he knew he was a lost cause. Nothing felt right without Fred, he felt like everything had to be given twice the effort to make up for the half of him that was lost. He walked up to one of the large hay bales in the field and kicked it firmly. A burst of hay puffed into the air and floated away on the breeze. He watched it twist and twirl towards a small lake situated at the very end of the field and walked towards it aimlessly.

The lake was dark and almost completely still; the stars twinkled in its oily surface and as George watched it a single fish flopped through the surface, creating a wave of ripples that widened out across its width. He slid down the small bank and sat at the edge of the water, his shoes just out of reach of the liquid. A large stone was resting on the bank beside him, a little larger than his head, and he pushed it gently so that it rolled lazily into the water, causing a small splash and a huge wave of ripples. George leaned forward on his knees and looked into the surface of the water at his reflection as it wobbled and wavered before his eyes. He stared into his own eyes for a few minutes and then moved his attention to his mutilated ear. He remembered the day it had happened and how worried Fred had looked. It was the first time in their lives that either of them had had a distinguishable physical difference and, at the time, George had felt very exposed and odd. That seemed so long ago now, like a different lifetime. George supposed it had been in a way; the life he was leading now was very different from the one he'd had before Fred had gone.

He sat there for an immeasurable amount of time and then, out of the blue, a fish flopped out of the water and onto the bank beside him. He watched as it gasped for breath and flapped about uselessly on the dry earth, its fins and tail swishing manically. George picked it up and tossed it back into the water, watching as it swam down out of sight. He looked at his reflection once more and was preparing to head back to the Burrow when something about the face staring back at him caused him to leap to his feet and stumble backwards. A few lose rocks fell into the water, disturbing the still surface for a moment, and then it settled again, allowing George to look at the face once more. Something was different about it; it moved at the same time he did and seemed to mirror his expression perfectly but something wasn't quite right. He cocked his head to the side and then realised what it was. His ear! The reflection had two, perfectly formed _normal_ ears! He got back onto his knees and leaned forwards, his nose almost touching the water.

**~ o o O o o ~**

Fred watched through the blurry surface of the water as George looked down at his own reflection. He didn't know how he ended up in the strange places that he did, he only knew that now and then he would suddenly be standing in front of George without any prior warning. Not that he minded, he felt better when he was around his twin, more grounded. He watched as George looked down once more and then jumped to his feet, like a snake had snapped at his ankles. A few rocks tumbled into the water, momentarily blocking Fred's view of his brother, and then the water became the still window once again.

George looked like he might die of a heart attack right there and then. His face had paled and he was clutching his chest with a white-knuckled fist. He leaned back down next to the water and stared down at Fred once more. Fred knew he couldn't see him, he never could, but something about the way George was staring down at him made him slightly uncomfortable.

**Thanks for reading!**

**Please review!**

**More chapters soon :)**


	4. Blurred Vision

**Chapter Four: Blurred Vision**

"F- Fr- Fred?" George stammered as he stared at the two-eared reflection in the water. For a moment Fred didn't respond, he figured it was George talking to himself once again, but then, as he watched his twin's eyes widen, a glimmer of hope touched his heart. He opened his mouth and gasped,

"Georgie?"

"Ahh!" George fell back onto his bottom, clutching his mouth. He scrambled forwards again and looked cautiously back into the water, "Is that you Freddie?"

Fred nodded silently, completely awestruck. How could this be happening? Wasn't he dead? If not it was some cruel punishment for all those pranks he used to play. He looked up at George, who remained a strange white figure staring down at him, and longed to be able to touch him, just to hug him and feel his presence. George rubbed his eyes as though to make sure what he was seeing was real and then leaned forward,

"How is this- How are you- Are you okay?" he held his hand out as if to touch the water but pulled it back in case, by disturbing the water, he would lose his connection with Fred.

"I'm fine," said Fred, smiling stupidly. Of course he wasn't _fine_, he was _dead_ for goodness' sake! He looked at George seriously, "I'm dead aren't I?" He watched as his twin's eyes filled with tears and his smile faded. George nodded and a tear rolled down his cheek,

"Yeah," he swallowed hard and looked at his hands as he continued, "There was an explosion…" his face crumpled and he couldn't bring himself to continue. Fred wished he could comfort him but he was forced to watch through the watery window, seemingly _between_ worlds. George looked down at him again, "How are you here?"

Fred shrugged, "No idea mate. What do I look like? Am I all see-through?" George shook his head, "Oh," said Fred, "I thought maybe I was a ghost." George remained silent and Fred hated that he'd caused so much heartache, so much pain. Why couldn't he have just dodged the explosion or fought better? Why did he have to be so _useless_ at all the serious stuff?

"I want you back Freddie," George mumbled, "I hate being here alone. It's awful!" He grabbed a fistful of grass in his hand and threw it at the water, watching as the blades separated and drifted off in different directions.

"I know how you feel," Fred admitted, "I hate it too. I wish I could just come back but, you know, _dead_!" he laughed weakly and George feigned a smile.

"Can't you come back?"

Fred frowned, "I dunno. There isn't a spell, well not one that won't turn me into some weird zombie-thing anyway," he waited for a chuckle from George but, when he looked at his brother, George was searching the water frantically with his eyes.

Fred's face had suddenly faded and then disappeared altogether. George put his hands in the lake and started waving them around under the water, as if to physically grab his brother and pull him out. There was nothing. Fred had gone. George yelled at the murky lake and got to his feet quickly, running along the edge of the water in case Fred had just moved. He hadn't. By the time George had circled the entire lake he was crying, hard. He kicked at the soil, sending clumps of muddy earth and grass into the water and then, without thinking, he jumped into the lake awkwardly, like a dog, with his arms out in front of him. It was deeper than he'd anticipated and when his feet touched the bottom there was a good two feet of water above him. He stayed at the bottom for almost twenty seconds just staring at the sky through the murky liquid and enjoying the tranquillity of the slow motion underwater world. And then he pushed up with his feet and… He was stuck. Something was wrapped around his left ankle, preventing him from moving. He pulled at it firmly but he was trapped. Air was becoming an issue and his eyes were starting to hurt from the silt and grime floating around him. _This is it,_ he thought, _I'll see you soon Freddie._ He closed his eyes and let himself float helplessly in the dark lake, unable to free himself or even cry for help. It was very peaceful under the water; everything was quiet, muted, and his tears merged with the water around him. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Maybe he and Fred could be together again. Yes, the family would be upset but surely they'd prefer him to be happy? He felt his mind clearing and his consciousness drifting away, like a feather caught on a breeze, and he smiled inwardly hoping to see Fred any moment.

As George floated there contemplating the afterlife a firm hand suddenly grabbed his arm and yanked him out of the water. The cool night air hit him like a brick wall and George felt himself being dragged onto the muddy bank. Someone was shaking him violently whilst someone else was whimpering beside him, holding his hand. He could feel the faint tug of release, he could just let go and he would be at peace, safe and quiet. Before he could allow this release however, his father pounded his chest with his fist and George's eyes flew open. He coughed and great globules of dirty water spluttered from between his lips, soaking the ground next to him. Arthur grabbed his shoulders and held him tightly against his chest, rocking slightly,

"Oh my boy, my boy," he repeated quietly. George looked around blearily; his mother was holding his hand, kneeling by his side. Ron, Hermione and Harry were standing behind her and Ginny was sitting on her knees at his feet. She looked terrified. Mrs. Weasley gripped George's hand tighter,

"What were you _thinking_?" she said shakily, "Do you think Fred would've wanted this? Do you think he'd be happy seeing you try to _kill_ yourself?" she wiped a tear from her cheek, determined to stay strong.

George frowned and opened his mouth to speak but another watery cough wracked his body. He was shaking all over and his body felt heavy with the extra weight of the water on his clothes. When he finally stopped coughing he looked at his mother,

"I wasn't trying to kill myself, Mum," he said through chattering teeth, "I saw… something." He sat up on his own, deciding not to tell the others about his encounter with his dead twin, he'd rather try to figure things out on his own first. Molly thought that George's face looked different somehow, happier even, but pushed the thought away when she thought about why he would be so happy about almost dying. She gathered him up in her arms,

"Well you're safe now, that's all that matters," she stroked his damp hair and helped him to his feet.

They all made their way back to the Burrow and George took a warm bath before going to bed. When he was pulling the curtains in his and Fred's room Ginny knocked on the door. She walked in, wearing her green pyjamas and worn out brown slippers, and perched on the end of George's bed. He sat beside her and ruffled her hair, something he hadn't done in a long time. The ruffling stopped though when he saw the dark look on his sister's face.

"Everything okay?" he asked.

Ginny didn't look at him when she spoke, "How could you?" George looked confused for a moment and she continued, "How could you do that to us?" her face was becoming redder and her eyes sparkled with unshed tears. George leant back slightly,

"Do what?"

"Try and kill yourself George!" Ginny wailed. George stared blankly at her and rubbed the back of his neck,

"I wasn't trying to… to do _that_. I-"

"-I know it's hard without Fred," George winced but Ginny didn't notice, her anger was raging now, "But we have to stick together now! I can't lose you too!" She exhaled shakily and her head hung low. George placed his fingers under her chin and lifter her face to look at him,

"Hey," he whispered gently, "I wasn't trying to top myself, I promise." He smiled lopsidedly and wiped a tear from her freckled cheek. Ginny was silent for a moment and then the corner of her mouth twitched,

"Pinky promise?" When George's forehead creased Ginny explained, "Harry told me that muggles use their little fingers to promise things. It makes the promise unbreakable." She held out her little finger and lifted George's hand to match hers. They locked pinky fingers and George smiled wanly,

"That Harry Potter is a right weirdo," he said.

With a playful punch to her brother's arm Ginny left George to get some sleep. And sleep he did, but not without dreams. He dreamt about fighting a being with a long black cloak and a sharp scythe. He dreamt about joining Fred in the afterlife and playing pranks on fellow ghosts. But mostly he dreamt about trying to save Fred, rescuing him from a world neither here nor there, life nor death. And in this dream he always failed.

**~ o o O o o ~**

Fred watched as George vanished quickly in a gust of pale grey smoke. A moment before that he'd been talking to his twin through the surface of the lake near their house and now Fred was staring at a vast nothingness that filled his vision in every direction. He squinted at his white surroundings as they began to take shape once more. He was back in the all-white Diagon Alley but this time no one was bustling around, it was eerily quiet. Something metal clanged to the ground a few yards away, breaking the silence abruptly, and Fred walked cautiously towards it. In the middle of the cobbled street was a black cauldron. Yes,_ black_. It looked so odd in the colourless street that Fred had to kick it gently to make sure it was actually there. It rolled lazily in a circle as his foot connected with its smooth surface.

"Funny thing that isn't it?"

Fred whirled quickly at the sound of the familiar voice. There, in pale robes, with his long white beard and hair and half moon spectacles gleaming in the white surroundings was Albus Dumbledore.

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	5. Colour

**Chapter Five: Colour**

Dumbledore smiled happily and gestured to the cauldron,

"It happens now and then," he said cheerily. Fred gaped like a dying fish and regained enough composure to speak,

"Prof- Profess- _Dumbledore?_" he blurted. Dumbledore smiled and stepped beside him, patting his shoulder,

"Yes Fred. How nice to see you. Although, it is a shame, us being dead and all."

"Yeah," Fred nodded, wide-eyed.

"I suppose you're wondering why I'm here," Dumbledore prodded the cauldron with his foot.

"You're dead too," Fred said, matter-of-factly.

The old man chuckled, "Well yes, there's that. But I meant _here_ in Diagon Alley. This is your area not mine."

"My area?" Fred asked, feeling as out of his depth as always when around the Hogwarts' ex headmaster.

"We all have our areas in here," he gestured around with his wrinkled hands, "Mine is… Well its not here. Anyway, I'm here because of that," he pointed a crooked finger at the black cauldron. Fred followed his finger and stared at the out-of-place object,

"The cauldron? How come it's black? Everything else is so…"

"White?" the old man smiled, "It's black because it's not from here. It's from out _there_," he pointed in no particular direction but Fred understood what he meant. He meant out there, where George was, where the _living_ were.

"So it came through?" Fred's eyes sparkled hopefully.

"Yes," Dumbledore stroked his long beard, "Yes, it came through. From the land of the living as it were." He looked at the young redhead and tipped his head to one side, eyes narrowed, "What are you thinking?"

Fred bit his bottom lip, "If something can come through from there…"

"Then maybe something can go through from this side?" Dumbledore finished. Fred nodded and looked at the headmaster expectantly,

"Can it?"

Dumbledore inhaled deeply and stared at the cauldron for a moment. Fred was starting to think he wasn't going to answer when suddenly he simply said, "Well Harry did." Fred was taken aback and his eyebrows rose in awe,

"He _did_?" he gaped. Dumbledore nodded solemnly and then his face changed to a mask of pity. Fred understood immediately; he wasn't Harry. Harry was The Chosen One and he was just plain old Fred Weasley, half of the Weasley twins, nothing special about him. He hung his head and stared at his shoes as Dumbledore rested his hand on Fred's shoulder,

"What's wrong boy?" he prodded, "Don't you think you're good enough to get back through to the other side?" Fred looked at him dejectedly but Dumbledore continued solidly, "Why, I thought you were the infamous Fred Weasley! I've heard stories about you and your brother for years, causing havoc in the halls of Hogwarts and disrupting the peace of Diagon Alley with your joke shop!" he kicked the cauldron and it rattled along the street noisily before clanging into a shop doorway, "You're just as important as the next man. Just as important as Harry Potter."

"Yeah right," Fred snorted.

"I mean it!" Dumbledore was practically beaming with pride, his arms flailed around in front of him wildly, "Think of your family, of _George_! Who do you think is the most important person in his life? You, of course!" Fred frowned at him and shook his head,

"It's too late. I'm _dead_! Have been for months! There's no way anything's going to change that." Dumbledore waved his comments off merrily,

"You'll never know if you don't try," he whispered. Suddenly a strong wind whirled through the alley, almost knocking Fred off his feet. A thick white mist came with it and Fred had to shield his eyes as an increasingly bright light burst forth from every direction. When the light finally dimmed he lowered his arms and looked around. Dumbledore was gone. Fred stood there motionless as the same thought echoed through his mind, _You'll never know if you don't try._

**~ o o O o o ~**

George woke up later than everyone else the morning after he'd fallen in the lake. His head ached slightly and his throat felt like it was full of needles; he swallowed cautiously and winced when the stabbing pain continued. The muddy lake water obviously didn't agree with people's insides. He stretched out his arms and legs and groaned slightly when the muscles complained about the movement, he reminded himself that a late night dip in the lake was not something he wanted to repeat. He lay there under the covers for a moment, staring at the ceiling. The events of the previous night were still fresh in his mind but somehow he didn't feel his memories were trustworthy, after all how could he have seen Fred, _spoken_ to Fred, through the water? It all seemed ridiculous when he thought about it in the harsh light of the morning. He wanted to believe it though. He wanted to know that Fred was somewhere safe and that maybe, just maybe, he could bring him back from wherever his brother was.

He trundled sleepily into the bathroom and groped bleary-eyed for his toothbrush. He didn't feel like breakfast, instead he felt like he should be doing something, but what he wasn't quite sure. He finally managed to get a hold of his toothbrush (after dropping it on the floor twice) and spurted on some lime green toothpaste that his father had bought in muggle London a while ago. With the toothbrush wedged firmly in his mouth he stared in the mirror hanging lopsidedly on the wall in front of him. His hair looked shaggy and unkempt but at least it was almost long enough to cover the vacant space on the side of his head where his ear should have been. He brushed his teeth and splashed some cold water on his face and stared at his reflection; he thought that even if Fred somehow _did_ come back, he wouldn't look the same as him anymore. George felt like he'd changed so much in the past few months that he would no longer be identical to his twin. He'd look like the worn out, past his sell-by-date version of Fred. Maybe the family wouldn't even want George anymore, they'd throw him out with the rubbish and keep the newer, less broken twin. He shook his head and his red hair flopped into his eyes; why was he torturing himself with these stupid scenarios? He was almost certain he'd imagined all the stuff at the lake and the more he thought about it, the more sure he was that Fred was never coming back.

He turned to leave the bathroom but as he turned his reflection didn't turn with him. He leaned towards the mirror, eyes wide, and saw Fred smiling back at him. George almost fell into the bath as he stumbled back across the room. Fred rolled his eyes,

"Aren't you used to this by now?" George's mouth opened and closed silently and Fred continued, "George? I was, I dunno, cut off or something last night. I don't know how long I'll be able to stay and talk, I can't control it." George stood with his hands on either side of the sink and stared at Fred in the mirror,

"It wasn't my imagination," George whispered to himself, "Or maybe it was. Maybe it still _is_. Maybe I've gone mad, maybe-"

"-Maybe you should shut up and listen!" Fred snapped. George's mouth shut quickly and he nodded as Fred continued, "There was this cauldron and Dumbledore said-"

"-Dumbledore? You saw him?"

"Yeah, he was here but he disappeared. Anyway, he said that-"

"-So you actually saw him? Are you in some weird wizard-heaven? What-"

"-George!" Fred yelled and his brother fell silent,

"Sorry," mumbled George. Fred sighed and carried on with his story,

"_Anyway_," he said pointedly, "Dumbledore was here and he said that things sometimes come through from your world to this one. He also said that sometimes things from this world-"

"-Can come through to this one," George finished, slightly gob smacked. Fred nodded earnestly,

"He said Harry did it."

"He did!" George beamed, he felt suddenly elated, "He came back from the dead!" he gripped his red hair in his hands and smiled, almost manically, "You could do it too!" he shouted. Fred tried to feed off George's high but instead a feeling of unease was spreading through him,

"I don't know how to Georgie," he said.

"I should ask Harry how he did it!" George grinned widely, finally feeling like something positive was happening. He bounded out of the bathroom and quickly descended the creaky wooden stairs two at a time. He burst into the kitchen like some sort of maniac, winning looks of astonishment from his family.

"Bloody hell George!" Ron groaned as he mopped spilt cornflakes from his shirt. George ignored him and looked around the room for Harry. He wasn't there. Mrs. Weasley looked slightly frightened at the look on George's face and Arthur stood up, worried that George was having some sort of episode,

"George? What is it? What's wrong?"

"Where's Harry?" George asked breathlessly. His father frowned and looked between Ron and Molly, then back to George,

"He's in the garden with Ginny. What this about?" But George was already running into the garden, his dressing gown flying behind him like a cape.

Harry and Ginny were in the garden planting some new flowers Molly had bought, they looked up when George darted out of the house,

"Harry!" he shouted, "Harry come here!" Harry looked at Ginny who shrugged and obediently followed George back into the house. George grabbed Harry's shirt sleeve and started to drag him out of the kitchen and into the hall but Molly stood in the way. She placed her palm on George's chest,

"What is going on?"

"Mum, _move_!" George whined, bouncing from foot to foot.

Molly stayed put, "Tell me what you're doing!"

"Fred's in the bathroom and Harry needs to tell him how he came back from the dead so he can do it too but he doesn't know how long he'll be there so we have to go _now_!" George blurted all of a sudden. Molly was so shocked that she let George push her gently out of the way and run up the stairs, Harry in tow. They got to the bathroom and George ran straight to the mirror, "Fred! I found him!" he was panting, "Harry's here, now we can-"

Fred had gone.


	6. Information

**Chapter Six: Information**

George pressed his hand against the mirror where only _his_ face stared back at him, "No no no!" he pounded the glass. Harry looked at him like he was insane and George turned to face the young wizard, "He was here! I swear!"

Harry nodded and said, "Okay," but his eyes were sad, pitying, like he thought that George had finally lost it. Moments later Mrs. Weasley and Ginny barged into the bathroom where George was still standing with his hand against the mirror. Harry backed out of the room, making way for the family, and Molly stood behind George. She held out her hand to touch his back but stopped when he looked at her reflection through the mirror,

"He was here," George mumbled sadly. Mrs. Weasley held his shoulders and looked at his reflection,

"It's just _you_ George. No one else is here," she squeezed his shoulders but he shrugged her off and spun quickly to face her, his eyes red with tears,

"He was here! I saw him in the mirror, like I did in the lake!" his fists were clenched at his sides as he stared at his mother. She shook her head slowly and looked at Ginny before looking back at George,

"How could he be? Hmm?" she held one of his fists in her warm grasp and looked into his dark eyes, "I'm so sorry sweetheart, we _all_ are. But Fred's gone." Molly let go of his hand and, in a harsh voice that she hoped would somehow snap George out of whatever was going through his mind, she said, "And he's not coming back. Ever." Beside her Ginny's head drooped and George's lip curled back from his teeth,

"You know nothing! He _was_ here and he asked me to help him!" he spat, "He needs me and I'm not going to give up on him!" he barged past his mother and ran into his room, slamming the door behind him. A photograph of him and Fred at the beach fluttered down from the wall as its pin was shook loose. It showed them both about three years old, smiling as they sat in a large hole they'd dug in the sand; George was missing a tooth and Fred was holding up the red spade with which he'd knocked said tooth out of George's mouth by accident. The photo moved and as it did, three year old Fred kept poking three year old George with the spade, smiling mischievously. George stared at the photograph silently. He picked it up and placed it gently onto the chest of drawers next to several other photos of himself and Fred, each moving with cherished memories. He closed his eyes and exhaled shakily. When he opened them again his mind was made up; he would ask Harry how he came back to life, convince his family that he wasn't crazy and bring Fred back home where he belonged.

"Easy," he whispered.

Downstairs Mrs. Weasley was sitting on the couch next to Ginny and Harry. Arthur was in the armchair trying to read The Daily Prophet but he had to keep rereading the same paragraph as his mind wandered to other things. George stepped quietly into the room and sat down on the floor in front of Mrs. Weasley. She started to play with his hair like she used to do when he and Fred were young and he sat there for a while, content in making his mother feel loved.

After a short while George fell asleep. He dreamt about Fred being stuck behind a huge impenetrable glass wall and about looking in the mirror and seeing his own dead reflection staring back at him. The scenes shifted between images of his own reflection and images of Fred being trapped or just out of reach. Finally it became too much and George awoke shouting for his twin and sweating profusely. Molly was still rubbing his head, a little softer now, and everyone else had left the room. George rubbed his eyes and let his heartbeat slow a little before he turned to face his mother,

"Mum?" he asked. Molly looked at him, worry marring her soft features. She gestured for him to sit beside her and he did. He felt less childlike sitting next to her as he towered over her tiny body like a gangly giant. She waited for him to gather his thoughts and listened patiently when he spoke again, "I'm sorry about before," he said, "I was… tired." He didn't want to worry her anymore than he already had and so decided to wait for a better time to tell her about Fred, maybe even find some proof before he tried to explain everything. Molly smiled gently and brushed his cheek with her hand,

"Shh, it's alright," she inhaled slowly and her eyes brightened, "Your father and I are off to Hogsmeade this morning, join us if you like?" George shook his head slowly,

"I was going to do something… else," he forced a smile and kissed his mother on the cheek before dashing out of the room and up the stairs. As he was dressing he heard Ron and Hermione leave the house and then his mother was calling upstairs,

"Ginny! Your father and I are going now, are you coming?"

Ginny's voice drifted down the stairs, "Yes Mum!" George then listened as Ginny snapped at Harry to hurry up and as she dashed down the stairs to meet her mother. With one shoe on and one half-tied George darted out of his room and grabbed Harry before he could join Ginny downstairs. Harry squeaked as George yanked him into his room and shut the door quietly. He looked down at Harry, his eyes narrowed,

"Harry, listen-"

"-Are you alright?" Harry bit his lip nervously, "In the bathroom-"

"-Forget about it," George grabbed Harry's shoulders and forced him to look him in the eyes, "I need to know how you came back Harry." The younger boy squirmed uneasily beneath George's hold,

"I don't think it'll help. Fred's… gone."

George rolled his eyes, "Just humour me, okay?"

"Well," Harry started, "I'm not sure _exactly_. I mean, I had the resurrection stone but I don't think that's what brought me back. And I lost it anyway." He looked up at George's fading enthusiasm and placed his hand on his arm, "I'm sorry. I just don't know how I did it." George sighed and dropped his arms from Harry's shoulders, his head lowered. Just then Ginny's voice floated up the stairs,

"Harry! Come on!" Harry turned to leave and then turned, his hand on the doorknob,

"I got on a train," he said and left the room.

**~ o o O o o ~**

Fred yelled as George's face faded yet again and his world became white and unrecognisable. He was sure he was getting better at talking through to the other side, to the living, but whenever he got close to getting answers he would always fade away into oblivion again. He was back in Diagon Alley, next to the giant plastic model of himself outside his and George's shop. Well, it was supposed to be a model of both him _and_ George but how it could look like both of them he had no idea. It raised its tall, white top hat mechanically and Fred watched as the large white rabbit appeared and disappeared over and over. He rubbed his forehead tiredly, his eyes were starting to hurt from looking at varying shades of white constantly and his mind felt strained, like it was working extra hard for the missing piece that George used to fill. He walked slowly down the alley and stopped just outside of a shop advertising a new broom. There, in the doorway, was the black cauldron, standing out like a muggle in a wand shop. He stepped towards it and picked it up by its thin metal handle. It swung lazily in his grasp.

"How did you get here? How did you come through?" he asked it.

Suddenly it pulled his arm outwards, like a giant magnet was pulling at it, and started to drag him towards the end of the alley. He tried desperately to yank it back but it was so strong, his feet scraped along the cobbled street as he held on to it with both hands. It was headed straight for Borgin and Burkes.

Fred was suddenly lifted off his feet as the cauldron zoomed forward like a cannonball, pulling him along behind it. He covered his face with one hand as it burst through one of the windows, smashing glass everywhere, and he finally had to let go when it punched through the wooden ceiling to the upper floor of the shop. Fred lay there for a moment on his back, staring at the hole through which the cauldron had vanished. He sat up and brushed some loose shards of glass off himself before ascending the stairs to the first floor.

Upstairs was a large white room, although Fred believed had he been seeing it in its true form it would have been a very dark and eerie looking place. The room was almost empty, save for a couple of chests of drawers and what looked like a wardrobe lying on its side at the far end of the room. The cauldron was lying next to the wardrobe, seemingly glued to it by some unseen force, and beside the cauldron was what looked like shards of a broken mirror. He stepped towards the cauldron, floorboards creaking under his feet, and knelt down. With both hands he tried to pull it away from the wardrobe but it was stuck fast. Fred sighed and stood up and was about to leave the creepy shop when something about the wardrobe caught his eye; it was a triangular sort of shape, with the point of the triangle facing upwards where the doors met and its hinges were like crescent moons. His eyes suddenly widened.

"The vanishing cabinet!" he shouted.

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	7. Empty

**Chapter Seven: Empty**

The alley was bustling as usual. George watched as witches and wizards of all ages shopped for school supplies and potion ingredients. A small witch with a humped back pushed past him with her large umbrella and headed straight to a small shop that looked somewhat squashed between a shop selling owls and another stating that it sold 'Genuine Dragon's Anatomy'. George watched as the woman snuck slyly into the shop and then gaped as the two surrounding shops pushed together, making it seem as though the tiny shop was never there in the first place. He knew instantly that that was where he should go to ask for help for his unusual problem and started to stride towards the space where it had been moments before. His stride was broken however when a small boy started to wail at his mother just a little way away from George,

"But Mum!" he whined, "I want to get some puking pastels to fool Annie!" The boy's mother stroked his hair lovingly,

"I'm sorry Leo, but it's not open. It hasn't been for a while." George watched as she pushed her son gently away from the doorway to Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes and as the boy looked back over his shoulder sadly. George's throat tightened and he swallowed back the sudden emptiness that threatened to consume him once again.

He made his way to the area where the tiny shop had been and then stood in front of the brick wall feeling useless and a little awkward. He pulled out his wand and tapped the bricks gently but nothing happened. A tall man with a dead fox wrapped around his neck cleared his throat behind George and he wheeled at the sound, stepping out of the way. The man clicked his tongue loudly in annoyance and then whispered something to the wall. The bricks moved aside quickly and he stepped inside, George followed closely behind, almost trapping his jacket as the bricks behind him moved back into place. In front of him was a long, dark corridor that seemed to go on forever; doors led off it at random intervals on either side and people of all shapes and sizes were moving from door to door, each with a determined, and sometimes manic, look on their faces. George stepped out of the way as a large woman in red dashed past him carrying what looked like a dead cat.

Totally at a loss and wishing he hadn't entered the secret shop in the first place George opened the first door he came to and, when a plume of blue flames almost singed his eyebrows off, he closed the door sharply and tried the next one. Inside was what looked like any other shop; it had glass cabinets filled with mummy hands and bat wings and shelves of various jars and bottled lined the walls. A tiny man about the size of Professor Flitwick, with long grey hair and a contrasting black beard was standing behind a large desk, obviously standing on something in order to see over it. He smiled and George saw sharp yellow teeth behind his lips.

"Can I help you?" the small man smiled again, making George feel uneasy. He stepped towards the desk and scratched at the vacant space on the side of his head,

"I don't really know. I'm looking for something to…" George looked around to make sure no one was listening and leant further towards the tiny man, "Bring someone back."

"Ah," the man smiled, showing his yellow teeth, "Well, we have a lot of demand for that recently, what with the Potter boy vanquishing the Dark Lord and all. People want to bring back loved ones. Some even want to try and bring back you-know-who himself!" the man seemed almost pleased at this thought and he stroked his beard and tilted his head to one side, "But you look different. I don't think you want any old resurrection spell do you?" George shook his head,

"No. I want to know how to bring someone back through from, I dunno, a kind of limbo I suppose."

"Well there really isn't anything I can do for you boy. People don't come back quite right you see, there's always something a little off with them," the man watched George closely as his eyes dropped to the floor, "However," he said silkily, "There have been rumours of wizards and witches going to bring dear departed ones back from such a place as of which you speak." George looked at him a little brighter,

"Yes, that's what I want, something to bring him back!"

The man shook his head, "No, you don't understand. You have to _bring _them _back_. As in go and get them from wherever they are."

George gulped, "I have to go to… wherever he is and get him?" The small man nodded and George straightened his shoulders, "Alright. How do I do it?"

"Are you sure you're up for this boy? Crossing over isn't something to be taken lightly," when George stayed firm the man smiled, "Okay then. From what I've heard you must find something which belongs only to the witnesses of death and use it to cross over. This is the only way you'll be able to travel through the worlds safely."

George was nodding enthusiastically, "Okay. Where can I find this thing?"

The man chuckled and shrugged his tiny shoulders, "Well I don't know do I! I don't even know what it is! All I know is that you need it to cross to the other side and without it you have no chance."

"Thank you," George said and started to leave the shop. As he turned the handle on the door the small man shouted to him,

"Be wary though! In these rumours I've never heard of anyone actually _returning_ from their travels to the afterlife!"

George left the shop quickly and managed to sneak out of the hidden doorway behind a small, squat woman in black robes. Once back in the alley he wandered aimlessly for a while and found himself standing in front of his and Fred's abandoned shop. His mother had asked him a few weeks ago when he was going to get back to work and he'd made up some excuse about not wanting to build the produce back up in the busy season. What he'd _actually_ meant was that he didn't want to work there without Fred. How could he? It wasn't _his_ shop, it was _their_ shop and it just wouldn't ever feel right without the two of them working there together. He stared up at the giant mechanical twin in front of him; it was still moving, taking its huge hat off and revealing a large, white rabbit again and again. He stared at the plastic face; he'd always thought it looked more like Fred than himself, something about the nose and the perfectly symmetrical smile. George's eyes drifted to the main door of the shop and he flicked his wand, letting the door creak open gradually. The shadowed room behind it was a far cry from the once bright and cheery microcosm that it had been when Fred was- He shook his head, shoving the dismal thought away, _he'll be back here soon enough_, he thought to himself.

Inside, the shop was creepy. Abandoned packets of sneezing powder and skiving snack boxes lay haphazardly on the floor. The lights flickered on when George stepped over the threshold but it still seemed dim without the smiling faces of fascinated young wizards and witches. Behind him came the sudden, familiar gasp of a child seeing the shop for the first time. George spun to face a small girl in hand-me-down robes carrying a small, thin tabby cat. She was gaping at a cabinet full to the brim with candy that changed the colour of the consumer's hair and George watched as the small boy from the alley and his mother rushed in behind the little girl.

"See!" the boy shouted excitedly, "Its open!" he started rushing around, handling anything and everything he could get his hands on. His mother bent down next to the small girl, who was still staring into the cabinet,

"Do you want some Annie?" the woman asked.

George cleared his throat, "We're not open," he said hoarsely.

The woman stood up, "Oh, I'm sorry. Come on Leo!"

Leo, who was on the upper level of the shop, leant over the banister with a small glass bottle in his hand, "But Mum!" he whined.

"Come on dear, the shop's closed."

Leo sighed dramatically and the small bottle slipped from his grasp. George watched as it tumbled, as if in slow motion, to the ground next to his feet and smashed. A thin, green liquid oozed onto the floor amongst the shards of broken glass. The boy gasped and ran down the stairs to join his mother, who was fumbling around in her purse. She looked at George,

"I'm so sorry, how much do I owe you?"

"Don't worry about it," said George, not taking his eyes off the smashed bottle.

"Are you sure?" asked the woman. George nodded and she smiled thankfully, "Oh, thank you." She gathered her children and ushered them to the door. The boy, Leo, turned back when he reached the door and looked at George quizzically,

"Where's the other one?" he asked. George looked at him blankly,

"What?"

"There was two of you last time I came here. Where's the other you?"

Tears pricked at George's eyes and he blinked them back. When he spoke his voice was barely a whisper, "He's," he cleared his throat, trying to unblock it, "He's not here."

Leo rolled his eyes, "I know! But where-" Leo's mother had seen the look in George's eyes and she pulled Leo out of the shop quickly, shutting the door behind her, leaving the lone twin to stand in the empty shop with only the faint hum of the lights for company.

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	8. Mission

**Chapter Eight: Mission**

George stared at the closed door for several minutes, perhaps hoping that it would suddenly fly open and Fred would be standing there with a huge grin on his face, laughing at his pathetic excuse for a twin. It didn't. He eventually had to force himself to turn away from the door and look at the small mess on the floor where the bottle had smashed. Its watery, green liquid was pooling on the floorboards, reflecting the lights in its shimmering surface and George bent down to pick up the tiny shards of glass. As he did, a blurred version of his own face reflected back at him from the liquid, it moved as a small draft rippled its surface. He squinted at his reflection and it suddenly gasped, a look of surprise filling its eyes.

"George?" the reflection asked.

"Fred?"

"Georgie!" from amongst the watery, green liquid Fred's shocked tones gargled through to George. Fred looked as shocked as he was and he stared, open mouthed, up at his twin, "We need to stop meeting like this," he joked. George got on his knees and leant down next to the spilt liquid, getting a little on his trousers,

"I'm coming for you, you know," he smiled slightly and Fred's head tipped to one side,

"Really? You found a way? Because I-"

"-Yeah!" George interrupted as a smile spread across his face, "I went to this weird old shop and the guy said something about finding a 'witness of death' that I have to use to travel over and get you." Fred had gone suddenly still. He lowered his head and sighed,

"No," he said. George's smile slowly faded and he frowned, confused,

"What?"

"You can't come here," Fred said quietly, his head still lowered, "It's too dangerous."

"Too dangerous?" George scratched the left side of his head absently, "Bloody hell Fred, you're _dead_! I think things got _dangerous_ long ago!"

"I can't let you come here!" Fred shouted suddenly. George snapped his mouth shut and stared at his brother through the green puddle. He shrugged his shoulders and jutted his chin out,

"You don't have a choice," George said firmly, "I'm coming to get you and there's nothing you can do to stop me." Fred opened his mouth as if to retort but, when he saw the look of determination on his twin's face, he stopped and sighed heavily,

"Fine… But will you try something before you go looking for this 'witness of death' thing? Please?" George pursed his lips but allowed Fred to continue. Fred seemed to look at something beside him but George couldn't see what, and then he looked back at George, "I'm in Borgin and Burkes-"

"-You are?" George's eyes widened, "How?"

Fred shrugged, "Dunno. But I am. Anyway, I'm sitting next to a vanishing cabinet."

George stared, open-mouthed, at his brother. Perhaps this was it. He would finally be able to free Fred and they'd go home and everyone would live happily ever after. He shook himself out of his daydream and pulled himself together enough to respond,

"We can use it! I'll go to Borgin and Burkes and you can come through!" George practically jumped to his feet and started bouncing around but Fred brought him back to Earth with a bang.

"I don't think that'll work," Fred said. George knelt back down, his eyes darkening slightly,

"It _has_ to work!"

Fred shook his head, "No. I think we'll have to use a different cabinet. No one ever passed through the same one. There're always two, we'll have to find the other one."

"Right," George nodded, smiling, and then his eyebrows rose, "Where is there another one?" They both fell silent for a moment, lost in thought. Then, as one, they shouted,

"Hogwarts!"

"Do you think it'll still be there? Harry said the room of requirement was destroyed," George scratched his head nervously and stared through the liquid at his twin. Fred looked just as nervous,

"I don't know. It's worth a try though. I'll try and meet you there if I can," Fred's face was starting to fade. A thick white fog was hovering around him and George's face fell when he realised his time with him was almost up. Fred smiled once more and his voice echoed through the fog quietly, "Get to Hogwarts…" He was gone.

**~ o o O o o ~**

The burrow was bustling with life when George finally returned home that night. His mother was laying the table whilst Ginny and Hermione helped dish out the food. Ron and Harry were playing chess in the living room by the fire and Mr. Weasley was reading a new book he'd bought that morning. Mrs. Weasley sighed a little shakily when George walked into the house; he knew she worried about him, especially when he was out doing things by himself, it just didn't feel right yet, George being _anywhere_ by himself. She smoothed down her apron and scanned him with her eyes briefly before placing her hands on her hips,

"Where have you been? It's getting late!"

George was full to the brim with adrenaline at the prospect of finally doing something to get Fred back and he couldn't help but smile at his mother, "I was at the shop."

"What shop?" Molly pulled her wand out of her apron and a few plates glided into place on the table.

"_Our_-" George stopped mid-sentence as Hermione and Ginny watched him from the corners of their eyes, "-_My_ shop," he corrected. His mother seemed to relax slightly and a small smile spread across her face,

"Oh George, that's wonderful," she wiped a small tear from her eye and George walked over to her. He held her shoulders and grinned,

"Yeah, it's going to be fine. Everything's going to be fine!" he left the kitchen and ran upstairs to his and Fred's room. Once inside he changed into some brown trousers and a pale green jumper, one of the few that his mother _hadn't_ knitted. He remembered how Fred had moaned and groaned when their mother had given them the jumpers with their initials on one Christmas. She'd made one for all the children but Fred had always been certain that she'd made them for the sole purpose of telling the twins apart. So, of course, they'd swapped.

George stuffed some more clothes into a bag and hooked it over his shoulder; he was going to go straight to Hogwarts and, depending on his mode of transport, he knew he would need some extra clothing. He needed only one more thing before he could set off: his wand. He hunted in drawers and on the various shelves that littered the walls and finally found it under his bed, along with Fred's. The bag of clothes slid slowly off his arm and thudded lazily to the floor as he sat on his bed staring at Fred's wand. It looked the same as it always had and it felt smooth in his grasp. As he sat there holding it he started to wonder if he was doing the right thing; of course he wanted to have Fred back but was it fair on Fred? Maybe he should just let him cross over to wherever it is wizards go when they die. Was he being selfish?

"No," he shook his head, "Fred wants to come back, we _need_ each other." George stood up and placed the wand gently into his bag, tucking it into a sock so as not to lose it. He grabbed his own wand and made his way downstairs into the living room. Arthur had moved into the kitchen to help Molly and Ron and Harry looked up when George walked in.

"Where're you going?" Ron asked, pointing to George's backpack.

"I have to do something," he answered briefly. He then turned his attention to Harry, "Can I borrow your broom?" Harry nodded, a little unsure and George started to leave.

"Wait!" Ron got up and stepped towards his brother, "You're not going off to do something daft are you?"

A devilish smile spread onto George's face, one that Ron hadn't seen since the twins had been together, "Daft? Me?" George winked, "I'll see you soon."

He dashed through the kitchen before anyone else could ask him something he wouldn't be able to truthfully answer and made his way outside. Harry's new broom was lying against the fence and George picked it up, a little cautiously. It had been a while since he'd been on a broom and he'd _never_ been on one without Fred by his side to stabilise him. He hooked his leg over it and hovered fifteen feet in the air, just above a small apple tree. Mrs. Weasley and the rest of the family suddenly burst through the kitchen door and rushed towards him,

"Where are you going Georgie?" Molly shouted, her ginger hair blowing around her face like a raging fire.

"Don't worry Mum, we'll be home soon!" he shouted back. And with that he was gone.

He soared above muggle London as the sun started to set. The sky was a deep purple and George watched as, one by one, the stars began to wink into life above him. The cool night air nipped at his hands and cheeks but he continued to fly as fast as he could towards Central Station. A few drunken girls whooped as he zoomed past them and entered the station; he didn't care if anyone saw him, he was on a mission and nothing was going to stop him. He swooped over bridges and under giant clocks until he finally came to his destination. Platform 9 ¾. Without hesitating he flew through the brick wall and was suddenly flying through the countryside, following the track on which the Hogwarts Express usually travelled. Trees and rivers blurred into one long smudge as he sped past them at break neck speed and after almost three hours it didn't feel as though he was flying at all, more like he was falling. His eyes started to droop and he had to keep rubbing his face to stop himself falling asleep and ending up head first in the nearest tree. Finally, after almost four hours and narrowly missing being hit by a flock of birds, the highest towers of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry became visible over the trees.

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	9. Between Worlds

**Chapter Nine: Between Worlds**

George smiled weakly and made his way towards the familiar sight. He landed clumsily in the main courtyard, scraping his feet along the cobbles as he tried to miss hitting one of the many piles of rubble. He stepped shakily off the broom and tapped it once with his wand; the broom shrank to the size of a pencil and he tucked it into the sock containing Fred's wand.

The school was still a mess; piles of rubble lay everywhere, it looked as though someone had started to clear it up but had given up half way through. Scorch marks covered the walls like evil graffiti and several wands lay discarded and broken amongst the rubble. The once prestigious school now looked like a disused, broken shell with no soul and no hope. It made George feel completely alone and sent shivers down his spine. He walked through what used to be one of the main corridors and stopped when he came to a set of large wooden doors, one of which was hanging loosely by its hinges. He hadn't meant to come this way, if anything he'd wanted to _avoid_ it, but somehow his body had brought him to the one place he didn't want to be. With a shaking hand he pushed open the door. It buckled under its own weight and collapsed with an enormous _THUD!_ onto the floor behind it, sending a huge cloud of dust into the air.

George stepped into the room; wooden benches lined the walls and George could have sworn he could still hear the sobs of wounded friends and professors as they comforted one another after the battle. His legs carried him forwards through the dust to the end of the room where the benches ended and a small empty space opened out. A shuddering breath escaped his lips and he fell to his knees. The memory of seeing Fred, his twin, his best friend, his soul mate, lying on the ground motionless and cold shot through his mind like a bullet. It punctured his heart and caused his breathing to increase as he knelt on the dusty floor clutching his chest. Fat tears rolled down his cheeks and dripped onto the floor, creating tiny pools of glistening light amongst the dust and rubble. He got to his feet and walked slowly towards the space where Fred had lain. George remembered wondering if he looked like that when he was asleep and then the sudden punch to the chest when he'd finally realised his twin wasn't asleep and would never be waking up. More tears fell from his glistening eyes at the still-fresh memories and he stood there staring at the floor for almost half an hour.

When it seemed that no more tears were left to shed a small yet assertive presence tickled the hairs on the back of George's neck and he turned around to face a thin woman in dark emerald robes and a pointed witch's hat. It was Professor McGonagall. He eyes widened when she saw who was standing in the destroyed room and she immediately walked towards him with her arms held out in front of her,

"My dear boy, what are you doing here?" she asked. George looked at his feet and tried to quickly rub away any stray tears from his face. His eyes remained puffy and red though, and the older woman in front of him couldn't help but notice this, "Are you alright?" George nodded silently and McGonagall touched his arm tentatively, "I was so sorry about your brother…" she trailed off. It was something George had gotten used to over the past few months, when people were apologising about the loss of Fred they would never say his name and George knew why. People who weren't close friends couldn't tell them apart; they'd forget which one it was who'd died and so, saving themselves embarrassment, they would simply avoid using any names. It made George angry; he'd always enjoyed it when he and Fred could swap places in school and fool their friends but when someone didn't know something as important as which twin had died it made him feel like only half a person, someone or some_thing_ that was useless without the other half. When he thought about it though, this seemed pretty true.

He looked at the older woman who'd punished him and Fred on multiple occasions and he felt a twinge of longing for those days. He wished he could just go back to that time and be young and carefree all over again. Instead he was at the destroyed and broken site of the battle that had killed his brother, talking to one of the professors who he'd never gotten along with. He turned to her now with a pleading look in his eyes,

"Should I not be here?" he asked quietly, his voice cracking slightly from all the crying he'd been doing. McGonagall shrugged and smiled gently,

"It doesn't matter to me. A few of us have been here for the past few months, working hard to rebuild the school and its reputation. Not an easy task let me tell you."

George smiled politely and then frowned as he looked around at the piles of rubble and fallen walls, "You're rebuilding it?"

McGonagall nodded, "I know it doesn't look like it but there's been great progress. Almost the entire North wing is completely rebuilt," she looked at him through the corner of her eyes, "But I don't think you've come here to help out have you?"

"No," he knew there was no point in lying and so decided to spill the truth. He looked at the woman's feet rather than in her eyes, "Is the room of requirement still here?"

"I don't know," McGonagall admitted, "Nobody has required it since the battle so it hasn't revealed itself." She cupped her thin hand under George's chin and pulled his face up so that he was looking at her directly. Her hand was warm and soft and reminded him of his mother's hands. McGonagall sighed, "If you need it I'm sure you'll find it," she smiled and left the room quickly, letting George dwell on the small spark of hope that had reignited in his heart.

**~ o o O o o ~**

George's face faded away into nothingness as Fred watched through the broken shards of mirror on the floor of Borgin and Burkes. He just hoped that George knew what he was doing and that he would be able to find the other vanishing cabinet. Fred knew it was a gamble but the thought of George trying to come through to wherever it was that Fred was now situated made his guts churn. He didn't want George to risk his life in order to save his, it just wouldn't be right. Fred looked at the cauldron in front of him, its smooth black surface was a stark contrast to the white interior of the misty room and Fred yearned for some other colours to penetrate his vision.

He sat next to the vanishing cabinet for a long while, letting time drift past him like an old friend that he took for granted. There was nothing else he could do; George was somewhere in the land of the living trying to find the other cabinet and all Fred could do was sit and wait. As he was contemplating opening the cabinet just to take a look inside, it suddenly began to shake. It vibrated like something was shivering uncontrollably inside it and then, all of a sudden, the doors flew open, knocking Fred and the cauldron back. He got to his feet and stared at the open cabinet as it began to wobble savagely; it buckled and jumped like a bucking bull and then Fred could hear something like a faint echo growing louder inside the shadows of the cabinet. Something was coming through.

Fred grabbed the cauldron and quickly hid behind one of the chests of drawers that were next to the wall. Although the chest was huge and easily concealed him he felt somewhat exposed due to his brightly coloured clothes in the otherwise colourless room. He watched nervously as the cabinet wobbled and groaned and then suddenly, in a cloud of inky black smoke, a huge black creature with thin, bat-like wings dived out of it and screeched to a halt in the centre of the white room. Fred had never seen anything like it; it was at least eight feet tall and looked almost like the skeleton of a horse. Its spine protruded through its back and its wings were so wide that they touched the opposite walls of the room. Its face looked sinister with a large beak and blank eyes that seemed to stare into infinity. Just looking at it gave Fred a sense of foreboding. On top of the creature was a tall, broad man wearing dark red robes and a long pointed black hat. His face was scarred beyond recognition down the left side and his eyes were a deep purple that shimmered in the harsh light. He dismounted the strange black creature, which snorted loudly and snapped its large beak, and went back to the cabinet. He looked around the room briefly, causing Fred's heart to stop momentarily and then, with a flick of his thin black wand he slammed the vanishing cabinet shut. The man scanned the room for any sign of another presence and then slowly removed his hat. He reached his hand into it and pulled out something small and held it in the palm of his hand. Fred strained to see what it was but was unable to without exposing his presence.

After what seemed like forever the man put away the tiny object and secured his hat back onto his head. He then mounted the strange black creature and apparated out of sight, leaving only a faint cloud of grey-black smoke in his wake.

"Well," said Fred, "That was interesting."

**~ o o O o o ~**

Hogwarts was certainly different from the last time George had seen it but it was nowhere near the once regal building that it had been. As he walked the corridors, surrounded by rubble and fallen statues, a cool breeze blew in from the broken windows and ruffled his unkempt hair. A light grey feather floated on the soft breeze, past his head, and George watched as it glided towards a large wooden door that had somehow managed to escape the destruction of the rest of the castle. He stepped towards it and it opened slowly by itself, revealing a huge space filled with staircases, some of which moved slowly through the quiet air. It wasn't an unusual sight to George, he and Fred had spent hours on these stairs when they'd first arrived at Hogwarts all those years ago. They'd enjoyed the way the staircases moved unexpectedly and even tried hopping from one staircase to another on various occasions, much to the dislike of Professor Snape. Now they seemed somewhat unexciting and bland. Perhaps it was because Fred wasn't there with him or perhaps it was simply because he was older now and more mature. He smiled and shook his head, it wasdefinitely _not_ because he was more mature.

As George ascended one of the many moving staircases it suddenly jerked to a halt, knocking him off balance and almost sending him hurtling down to the floor far below. The stairs suddenly flattened out into a sort of stone slide and with no time to react, George slid down it and was suddenly freefalling down a thirty foot drop to the solid floor below. He grasped uselessly at the air and managed to hold on to his backpack as he hurtled downwards. Instead of splattering against the stone floor, however, he came to a slow stop just above the ground, like he had landed on a giant cotton wool bud. Below him he watched in amazement as two huge doors grew out of the stone and opened like a large trap door in the floor. The cotton wool suddenly disappeared and George plummeted through the open doors and into the room below. In a matter of seconds he landed on the floor of the room; it was as though the world had flipped as he fell and instead of simply falling through the doors into oblivion he had seemingly fell from the ceiling of the room and the doors were now behind him, the right way up. Disorientated and feeling a little sick, George got to his feet and looked around the large room. It had no windows and was a pale shade of blue with a low light that glowed from no particular point. The floor was a shimmering shade of emerald green that sparkled in the unusual light and behind him was the only object in the entire room: the vanishing cabinet.

George picked up his bag and walked slowly to the cabinet; it looked as though someone had set a blow torch to it. One of the doors was hanging on by one hinge and the other was so badly scorched that the wood crumbled under George's touch. It was standing at an angle because two of the legs had snapped and splintered and holes littered the edges of the cabinet. It wasn't looking good.

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	10. Desires

**Chapter Ten: Desires**

Silence filled the room of requirement as George sat and stared at the battered vanishing cabinet in front of him. A million questions flooded through his mind; would Fred be able to travel through the cabinets? Would he himself be able to leave this room and if so, how? Would it be the same as it was before if Fred _did_ return? His head was starting to ache with the thought of Fred coming back somewhat different, like in one of those old zombie films that Harry had made them watch last summer, when movement in the corner of the room caught George's eye. He leaned around the cabinet to see that something else had somehow entered the room. It was quite large and leaned against the far wall, covered with a large grey sheet. He walked over to it and yanked the sheet off with one swift jolt. It fluttered to the floor like the fallen sail of a huge ship and revealed what it had been hiding: the mirror of Erised.

For a moment George thought someone else was in the room with him and he was about to reach for his wand when he realised the person staring back at him was himself. His hair hung limply against his face and fell flat against the left side of his head where his ear should have been. His eyes looked sunken and pale, like those of a dead man and his clothes hung loosely on him as though he was a small child wearing his father's shirt. The expression on his own face, a one of terror and utter misery, sent a shiver down his spine. With something like a ripple on the surface of the glass the mirror suddenly showed a new reflection; George suddenly looked fourteen and was wearing his quidditch kit. There beside him was fourteen year-old Fred, wearing the same kit and with a huge grin on his face. The twins were laughing and pulling faces and looked completely worry-free. As George watched his younger self and Fred he could almost _feel_ the mirror drawing him in. He'd heard stories about people wasting their lives in front of the mirror, about wizards and witches who'd watched their greatest desires unfold in front of them while they rotted away on the other side of the glass. George thought that, right then, watching himself and Fred being so happy, he could stay there for the rest of his life and not even care. It was only when fourteen year-old Fred suddenly morphed into the present Fred that George finally snapped out of it.

"Fred? Are you real?" George asked, completely expecting him to say no.

Fred looked pale and a little shaken but pulled himself together enough to reply, "I bloody well hope so."

George relaxed slightly and the corner of his mouth tilted upwards, he pointed his thumb over his shoulder and said, "I found the other cabinet. I'm in the room of requirement I think." Fred leaned past George's shoulder and looked at the ruined cabinet as George continued, "The cabinet's been burnt though, it looks like one of Mum's-"

"-Pumpkin surprises," Fred finished. He sighed and held up the cauldron, "We can still try. I'll send this through." Fred disappeared from sight for a moment and George could hear the creaking doors of the vanishing cabinet opening and closing. Fred returned to the mirror and raised his eyebrows expectantly, "Well? Anything?"

George was about to respond with the negative when the cabinet behind him began to shake and vibrate. Shavings of burnt wood started to flake to the floor and it looked like it might collapse from the shear force that was coming from its very core. George ran towards it and it suddenly stopped moving. The door with the remaining hinge slowly creaked open and inside the dark shadows behind it was the cauldron. George picked it up and swung it above his head like a trophy,

"Its here Freddie! Its here!" He ran up to the mirror, still holding the cauldron and beamed at his brother, "You can come through now!" George laughed, almost hysterical, but Fred didn't look pleased. He was staring at the cauldron in George's hand. George's smile faded and he looked down at the cauldron in his grasp; it was glowing with a faint, white light that was slowly getting brighter. The handle suddenly disintegrated in George's hand but it didn't clatter to the floor, instead it hovered in the air between the twins and began to collapse in on itself, like ashes in a dying fire. Both Fred and George shielded their eyes as the cauldron burst in a flash of brilliant white light and finally blinked out of existence with a loud _SNAP!_

Behind the glass of the mirror Fred's face darkened and his head lowered,

"Well, we tried," he mumbled.

"'We tried'? Is that it?" George pressed his index finger against the mirror, jabbing Fred in his non-corporeal cheek, "Don't you give up now! This is the first thing we've tried!" his raised voice made Fred look up at him,

"What else is there to do?" Fred's voice mirrored the anger and desperation of his twin's.

"Now we try _my_ way. With this 'witness of death' thing," George took his hand away from the mirror and, out of habit, tucked a strand of hair behind his non-existent left ear, "I think it might be an animal."

Fred's eyes suddenly brightened, "Like a big ugly horse thing with wings?" he asked. George stared at him blankly, like he used to do in school when Fred would try and explain a particularly tricky spell or potion,

"Err, no idea," he admitted, "Why?"

At first Fred seemed unable to respond; he looked around, as though making sure no one was around to listen. Finally he looked back at his brother,

"Someone came through the cabinet," he whispered.

George's eyes bugged, "Someone went through?" he smiled, showing his teeth, "So it _can_ be done!"

"He was on a big black thing with wings," Fred continued, "That must be the 'witness of death' thing." But George wasn't listening. He was smiling from ear to, well, from ear to _hole_ at the prospect of being able to go through the cabinet and collect Fred. He gathered his bag and ran to the huge doors at the other end of the room. As he opened them he shouted back towards the mirror,

"I'll see you soon Freddie! Just you wait!" And with that he left the room and slammed the door behind him.

**~ o o O o o ~**

It was the first time Fred had finished a conversation with George since he'd died without it being cut short by the white mist. Instead it had been George who'd left the conversation early, and without hearing all of the facts too. Fred watched the room of requirement slowly start to shrink and he turned away from the mirror. What was the point in having a window to the world of the living if he had nobody to talk to?

He left the shop and walked through Diagon Alley a few times until the hustle and bustle of people he couldn't touch or talk to became too much. He was about to make his way to his and George's shop when something black seemed to smudge the crystal clear sky above him. Fred snuck behind a large white sign that read: 'Rat's Tails Half Price' and watched as the smudge got closer and closer until finally landing in the alley. It was the same man and creature that had appeared out of the cabinet and Fred shied away from the menacing beast's evil glare. The broad man dismounted it and made his way to a small space between two shops on the other side of the alley. Fred peered around the sign as the man tapped his wand against the all-white bricks in the wall and watched as they separated, revealing a shadowed corridor. The man stepped inside and without thinking Fred dashed across the alley and followed him inside just as the bricks behind him clicked back together.

The man opened a door to his right and disappeared from sight. Doors lined either side of the thin corridor and Fred had to hurry to make sure he chose the same one as the man he was pursuing. Inside, Fred saw the man step up to the counter and ring the bell with a large hand. The sound echoed strangely through the room. Careful not to touch anything or make any sound Fred hid himself behind a large cabinet filled with werewolf hair and mummified hands and peered through a gap in its door as he watched the suspicious man. After several minutes a tiny man appeared behind the counter and started to talk to the tall man in the red robes,

"Did you bring it?" the small man asked and Fred noticed that the small man and his entire shop were just like the alley: completely white. How could the sinister looking man be talking to him then? Fred thought anxiously. The taller man reached into his pocket and pulled out the same small thing that he had when he'd first emerged from the vanishing cabinet. He placed it on the counter,

"Of course I did," his bellowing voice made Fred shudder and he had to stop himself from shouting out as the man continued, "It wasn't easy to find though, that Potter lad dropped it in the bloody forest!"

This time Fred couldn't help but make a small gasping sound and he immediately slapped his hands to his mouth. The tall man in red paused slightly but then continued with his rant, seemingly oblivious to Fred's presence.

"What about you?" he asked the tiny man, "Did you find a willing sacrifice?"

The small man smiled wickedly, showing his pointed yellow teeth, "Willing, no. But I told some pathetic boy to find a Thestral. He was already planning on travelling through to save someone or other, his brother I think, and he didn't need any persuading to go through! Little does he know that he won't be coming back!" The pair laughed as Fred staggered out of the shop and back into the long corridor,

"Oh George," he whispered, "What have you gotten yourself into?"

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	11. You Must Be Mad

**Chapter Eleven: You Must Be Mad**

The huge wooden door banged loudly behind him as George burst through it on his way to find the 'big ugly horse thing with wings' as Fred had put it. Unfortunately for George the doors from the room of requirement did not open the way he had hoped and he ended up falling flat on his face in a dark, dusty corridor. He stood up, brushed himself down and grabbed his bag, making sure nothing was missing. The corridor was unfamiliar but he guessed that most of Hogwarts would be unrecognisable what with all the rubble and fallen walls. He walked a little way left and, when he reached a huge pile of impassable rubble he decided to back track and follow the curving corridor to the right.

After a short walk through the dark and after avoiding various fallen bricks and large holes in the ground George found himself at a small wooden door and finally realised where he was. With a push the door opened out into the night. The cold air made the hairs on his arms stand on end and a strange quiet howling on the left side of his head made him pull his hair down over the gap where his ear should have been. He could see his breath in front of him as he made his way down the path to Hagrid's hut and by the time he reached the front door his teeth were chattering. With numb fingers he reached out to open the door, only for it to swing open before he touched it. He jumped back, shocked, and stared wide-eyed at the ghostly figure in front of him. Luna Lovegood.

"Weasley twin!" she smiled and her pale white hair created a sort of halo effect around her pleasant face. She looked at him as he stared at her blankly and then asked, "Well aren't you coming in? It's rather cold to be standing out here in nothing but your gardening clothes." George opened his mouth to ask what she meant and then reconsidered. After all, it was Looney Luna Lovegood, she was probably off in her own little world anyway.

George stepped inside the tiny hut and stood awkwardly in the middle of the room. Luna flicked her wand and whispered "Incendio" and a fire flickered to life in the large fireplace. George moved towards it automatically and felt his muscles begin to relax as the warmth started to seep into his body. He turned back to look at Luna who was standing with a wry smile on her face as she stared at him. He cleared his throat,

"So Luna…" he looked back at the dancing flames of the fire to try and ease the feeling of awkwardness and continued, "What are _you_ doing here?"

Luna sighed and sat down in one of the huge chairs to the left of the fireplace. George felt as tall as Hagrid, looming over her like some gangly giant, so he sat down on the threadbare rug as Luna spoke in her wind chime tones,

"I was just helping Professor McGonagall and some of the other teachers gather some of the lost animals. Hagrid said I could use his home for a while." George looked at her sideways and flicked his eyes back to the flames as she continued, "After the battle so many of the woodland creatures ran away. It's a shame really, this was their home…" she trailed off and George could feel her sharp eyes looking at him. He rifled in his bag and pulled out a jacket and started to put it on. Luna frowned,

"Are you going already? It's dark and cold. I have tea," she gestured to a still-steaming teapot on the table.

"Sorry," George said quietly as he buttoned up the dark green jacket, "I've got somewhere to be." He grabbed his bag and made his way to the door quickly.

"I was sorry about Fred," Luna spoke in the most gentle manner and stood up. The way she said his brother's name made George turn to look at her, the tears in his eyes sparkling in the firelight, "I really was."

"Thank you," George whispered.

"You're looking for him aren't you?" When George lowered his head and didn't answer she continued, "I think you'll find him. But you could use some help."

George shook his head, "I don't need help, I'm fine."

"I know what you're looking for. I know where it is."

He looked at her, his eyes suddenly tear-free, "You know? How? Where can I find it?" George had stepped so close to Luna that he could have rested his chin on her head if he'd wanted to but she didn't step back. Instead she peered up at him, a smile on her pale face,

"In the forest. It was one of the only creatures that didn't run when the battle started. They're very brave. Much braver than Nargles," she held her tiny hand out and touched George's still-cold arm. He flinched back a little but forced himself not to step away,

"Will you show me where they are? Please?" he asked, a little desperation seeping into his voice. Luna shook her head, her moonlight hair shimmering in the dim light and George's stomach fell, "You won't? Why? Please, I need-"

"-Shush!" Luna interrupted as she took his bag and placed it on the table, "First you sleep, then in the morning we can find your creature." George frowned. If the creature was so close he wanted to go and find it right away, not waste time sleeping. But Luna was adamant, she sat back down in the large chair and spoke over her shoulder, "You look tired Mr. Weasley. And a tired twin is no good at all. Sleep and tomorrow I will show you to the creature."

He couldn't argue. But he felt like he wouldn't be able to sleep either. His head was so full of images of what the creature might look like and what his mother would say when he and Fred returned home that he though he might never sleep again. He thought he should humour Luna though and sat down in the huge chair opposite her. Within minutes he was snoring.

Something pleasantly warm and bright danced across George's eyelids as he lay sideways in the huge chair in Hagrid's hut. He opened his eyes slowly to find that sunlight was shimmering through the gaps in the old wooden shutters, making fine beams of dust-filled light criss-cross through the room like golden spider-webs. Luna was nowhere to be seen and George suddenly felt uneasy as a thought darted through his mind, _Maybe I dreamed she was here_. His fear was soon quelled though as the door opened and Luna walked in, a plate of pancakes in her hands. She placed it on the table and smiled at George,

"Good morning. You were so sound asleep that I didn't want to wake you, I hope you don't mind?"

He knew he _should_ mind, after all he'd wasted an entire night when he could have been looking for the creature in the forest, but he had had such a peaceful sleep without any nightmares or disturbances of any kind that he couldn't hold a grudge. He sat up, smoothed down his wild red hair and pointed at the pancakes,

"Breakfast?"

Luna nodded and put three pancakes onto a separate plate, "I made them myself. Syrup?" George nodded and watched as Luna poured a large dollop of golden syrup onto the steaming pancakes. His mouth watered as she passed them to him and he scoffed them down at Ron-like speed. Once he'd finished he stood up and buttoned up his jacket, he didn't want to waste any more time,

"Can we go now?"

Luna smiled, "Of course," she pulled on her coat and led the way out of the hut and into the shadowed forest. Once they were under the canopy of the trees George felt a wave of relief wash over him. It was as though, now that he knew he was moving ever closer to getting Fred back, he was gradually becoming whole again.

They walked for a while in silence; they passed fallen trees and listened as various small animals scuttled away from their presence into the underbrush. George watched as Luna's eyes flicked around wildly. It was as though she could see things dancing around in the air above them, things that George couldn't see, and it made him a little uneasy as he thought about what else might be lurking unseen in the shadows. Suddenly Luna stopped, causing George to almost fall over her. He moved beside her and peered through a gap in the trees in front of them. There, about ten feet away, was a group of large black beasts with skeletal limbs and huge, bat-like wings.

Luna gestured to them and smiled, "George Weasley, I'd like you to meet the Thestrals."

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